Think On That a Moment (Just a Moment More...)
by KitSparrow
Summary: Ever have one of those nights when you're dead tired, all you want to do is sleep, but all these thoughts keep you awake? Roger is suffering that now, as he reflects on love and his life in general. Contrary to summary, not humor. Or slash (sorry).


Think On That a Moment (Just a Moment More...)   
by Sparrow 

I lay in my room, staring at the ceiling and trying to sleep. Light from the streetlamps outside is coming in through the window, and more is coming in through the cracks around the door. I can just hear Mark and Collins talking quietly in the other room while Mark works on piecing together his latest film. I wish they'd go to bed, turn off the lights and stop making noise. I'm having enough trouble sleeping as it is. 

It's unusually cold tonight. It's the middle of summer, and it's cold. 

I wish Mimi was here. 

I wish she hadn't decided to go visit her parents. I want her here with me! Look at me be selfish. Her mom's messages have been sounding more and more frantic recently. Of course, not knowing much Spanish, who am I to judge? But she decided, with some hinting from Collins, that rather than just returning the calls, she should visit. 

Maybe I should write my mom. A nice, long letter. She'd probably appreciate that more than the random post cards I send her whenever I actually remember to. 

I still wish Mimi was here. It's cold and my bed feels too big with just me in it. My back hurts too, the muscles in my shoulders are all tight from the stress of hauling heavy musical equipment around all day. She could make it stop, strong, warm little hands pressing and kneading... And I'm getting sick, I've just realized, as I start coughing again. God, I hope this is just a cold... I don't want to think about what could happen if it isn't. 

She'll be back tomorrow, I remind myself. The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I can wake up tomorrow morning and the sooner she'll be here. But Mark and Collins are still in the living room. I know they're trying to be quiet- they think I'm already asleep- but I can't sleep with the floor boards creaking every time one of them moves, and Collins' voice echoing off the rafters, and Mark's quiet curses whenever something doesn't work right, and that damned light! It actually isn't really all that bright... I'm used to sleeping with the light of the streetlamps and the moon outside.... but for some reason, everything is getting on my nerves tonight. God, it's so quiet in my room, I can hear the homeless in the lot and cars passing in the road! What's up with that? I usually can't hear anything outside of the apartment. 

Sighing, I turn onto my side and pull the blankets up over my head, trying to block out the light and noise. I want Mimi. 

Arg, this is driving me crazy! She'll be back tomorrow, I repeat in my mind, over and over and over. 

But tomorrow is also the anniversary, I suddenly realize. Some messed up chance of fate... Two years now since April... Oh god.... no wonder I can't sleep... 

I throw off the blanket and try to focus on something else. There, the box that serves as my bedside table. It sits on its side, so I can get to the inside without having to throw everything off the top. On top are random papers, a couple of photos, and a notebook full of attempted lyrics. Inside there are more photos, probably hundreds. I don't remember when I started collecting them, most of them were probably already in the box before I decided to put it to it's current use. I pull those out, dumping them in piles on the bed and riffling through them, trying to find something to distract me from my loneliness. If I start missing both of them, I don't think I'll make it through the night without crying or writing something very dark and very depressing. Neither of which I want to do. I just want to go to sleep, so I can wake up tomorrow morning and be there to greet Mimi when she gets back. 

I cough again, into my shoulder since my hands are full of photos. I really don't want to think about what might be causing this right now... Back to the photos, quick distraction. 

The photos get older toward the bottom of the box. At first, there are pictures from recently, a few months ago. Me and Mimi and Collins and Benny and Joanne and Maureen. Farther on, there are pictures of Collins and Angel together. I even have a picture of Benny and Alison... no idea where the hell that came from... And then pictures of just Maureen... just Collins... Benny, me, me, me, Benny, Collins, Maureen, Maureen, Collins, me... there are so many of everyone... except Mark. The few there are of Mark are less quality, probably taken with disposable cameras, and by someone with a less trained eye than Mark's. He won't let anyone touch either of his cameras, so the good film is wasted on all of us. I remember a time when Maureen decided that she wanted pictures of herself and Mark together. Mark insisted that there wasn't any use in photographing him. But she went out and bought a disposable camera and made me and April take pictures of them. Most of mine turned out blurry, or had my fingers in the way. April's were better... and most of them had me in them more than Mark or Maureen. 

Mimi and Angel pulled the same stunt once, claiming that if Mark was going to photograph them, they wanted pictures of him in return. Mark always has this stunned look in his pictures, like he doesn't know what he's doing on the film, holding his camera in front of him like a shield. It's completely natural to see him holding a camera, he almost looks incomplete without it these days. Everyone manages to forget that the camera is even there when Mark's holding it. In the hands of others, it's a completely different story though. 

I pick up a couple more photos. One of Mark taking a picture of whoever was holding the camera at the time. Another, of much better quality, of me taking a picture; the previous one's counterpart. And then a picture of me and April fighting over the yellow cardboard camera, both of us grinning like idiots. 

I can feel tears in my eyes as I look at it. Maybe looking at photos wasn't such a good idea... 

I remember everything about her... her smell, her hair, her voice, her touch, her eyes... Did I love her? Yes, of course. Do I still? Yes. She was my world, the only thing that mattered to me. I loved everything about her... and then... she just suddenly wasn't... there... here... anymore... Of course I went off the deep end. Who wouldn't have? If it weren't for Mark, I would have followed her within a few days. 

I really never did leave the apartment after she died, except for once when Mark had to get Maureen and a couple of the guys from my old band to actually drag me out and to the clinic to get tested. If I hadn't been nearly comatose, I would have been kicking and screaming. I hated them all at the time. Making me leave, face the world without her, be outside when suddenly even a warm summer day was like winter in the arctic. I didn't even go to her funeral. I'm sure there are still rumors flying around about some horrible boyfriend who caused her death and didn't even care enough to pay respects to the dead. But I did care. I cared too much. 

But, I wish I could thank Mark enough. He really did save my life, which is what matters now. 

Of course, if it weren't for Mimi, I still would not have left the apartment. I would still be wallowing in my own misery. She saved my mind at least, maybe even my soul, if such a thing exists. She taught me that the miserable life Mark insisted I keep was still worth living, that it was still worth fighting for. I owe Mimi the world and so many things I could never, ever give her. She... god, I love her more than I can ever, ever put into words. Maybe more than I ever loved April, but that's impossible and unfair to judge. I really do not deserve her. She shouldn't be wasting the last few moments of her life with a bum like me. But she is, and she loves me, which is more than I would ever dare to ask of anyone now. I don't know what I'll do when she finally submits to the virus that rules our lives. I almost hope that I go first, just so I don't have to see her die too. Again. Selfish, I know, but I don't know how I'll be able to survive losing her... 

I wonder sometimes how Collins can take Angel's death so well... He always has been the strongest of us all. He's always referred to this strange group as a family. If we're a family, then he's the father, or the perfect older brother. He's always there to give advice, be a shoulder to cry on, or just someone to talk to whenever anyone needs it. I once asked him how he could stand to always be so supportive, never have time of his own, never show the pain he's feeling. He laughed and said that it was just in his nature- he likes helping people, trying to make the world better. Trying to leave a good mark on the world before he leaves it. I'm not sure why I pressed the matter, but I hinted around at how he was coping with Angel's death. He sighed and admitted that it was hard sometimes, but that even though he'd lost the one person he loved with all his heart (his actual words), there was still alot he had to live for. Like taking care of us, me and Mark and everyone else, for one thing. He was laughing then, but I could hear more unshed tears in his voice and see them in his eyes. I didn't press the matter any further. If that's how he's going to deal with his grief, then let him. It certainly shows that he can be more mature about it than I am... was... 

Of course, if Collins is the father of this messed up family, then there is no doubt that Angel was the mother. Nevermind the fact that she was a man. She had all those qualities found in a fairy tale mother... kind and loving and all that other stuff. And if he wasn't the mother, than he was at least the most interesting older sister in existence. 

And to continue on that strain, anything to distract from thoughts of April or being lonely for Mimi, if we're some kind of family, then everyone else fits in somewhere too. Benny is the annoying rich cousin who always has to be in the limelight, always has to have the best, most expensive stuff. I know he really means no harm (usually. We won't go into the small matter of, oh, say... Mimi! Mine.), he really only wanted to help, but it's so easy to be mad at him sometimes, especially when his own shortsightedness gets in the way of reality. 

I guess I'm the rebel teenager who paints his room black and gets in with the wrong crowd and does everything he's not supposed to just to spite his parents... no wait, that really is me. That's exactly what I did in High School. Nevermind. My childhood wasn't the greatest... I remember one Christmas Eve, when I was about thirteen, I spent hours trying to melt packaging peanuts in the bathroom sink, trying to ignore my mom and brothers arguing outside... Part of why I moved to New York with my two best friends as soon as I could. 

Mark is either the youngest or second youngest child, trying to live up to high expectations or make up for the stupidity of his older sibling. His real parents always expected him to live up to Cindy's great accomplishments, but all he ever really wanted to do was make films. He'd hide in his room and play with his cameras and tech stuff, or follow me around town, be there when I got into trouble to bail me out. Like he always does. 

Maureen is definatly the spoiled baby. She believes she can get away with anything and that there's nothing she can't do. I wonder how Joanne puts up with her sometimes. She's so headstrong and... I guess the only word is creative, but there's some weird shit going on in her head, no doubt. We never really got along, even when she was living with us. But it was all in jest, of course. An almost sibling thing. 

Joanne and Mimi... let's just leave them as the girlfriends; I'm too tired to go into an incest thing. 

Actually, sometimes I think Joanne and Mark would be an interesting couple... just my own observation, of course... But it's good that they get along so well. Mark needs someone besides me who can tolerate him for extended periods of time. A friend who won't always be in need of some help, some bailing out. 

I can feel another cough coming on. I wonder if I should tell Mark or Collins... Mark will overreact, like he always does, and insist that I see a doctor post haste. I really don't think it's that bad. Collins will be more easy going about it, but recently he's gotten into herbal healing... I'm not really sure what sparked this, but there's something about being in great health, even if you're dying... Still, you think Cough Syrup tastes bad? Wait 'till you've had a boiling cup of water and tree pollen. Ugh. Tea is one thing, but that is completely another. 

The mucus is building up uncomfortably in the back of my throat. I get up, shivering at the cold of the floor boards under my feet and the night air hitting my skin, and go to the bathroom to get rid of it. When I'm done, I just stand there a while and look around, thinking about the reasons why I hate this room. 

Chief among them would be the blood. There isn't a trace of it now, but it was all over the tub and a little on the floor... 

I remember everything about April, but most of all, I remember her blood. Red, thick, dark, pooling and streaming, it was all I saw in my mind's eye for almost six months. Yes, I think you could safely say that I was at least a little disturbed by the experience. Even with Mark gaping and pointing and looking like a sheet, I was unprepared for what he'd found... I don't even want to think about what it was like for him, finding his best friend's girlfriend, dead in the tub, when just that morning she'd been smiling and laughing with us at breakfast... But he handled everything so well... he handled me going postal so well... Oh, thank God for Mark... 

Do I love Mark? Yeah, sure, he's my best friend, my brother, the only good brother I've ever had. Not at all the same way Collins loves Angel. He saved my life and kept me alive for six months. He gave me the chance to get over April. The chance to meet Mimi. And all I've ever done is screw him over and make him take responsibility for the things I did wrong. I owe him a lot. I don't think he realizes that he's just as important to me as I am to him. Of course I love him, but there's a difference between romantic love, like for Mimi, and... whatever kind of love this is... brotherly love or something... 

I lean over the sink, running icy cold water over my hands and splashing it onto my face, trying to wash away the image of April's blood that plagued my thoughts for half a year. Instead, it merely changes to another image, similar, but by no means the same. 

When I was fourteen, my first act of rebellion was to dye my hair bright, blood red. I remember Mark fawning over me, saying how awesome it was that I was getting away with that. At the time, Mark was more of a personal fan than a best friend. We didn't know Collins yet, he joined our circle about two years later. The dye didn't stay in very well and it would come out in massive quantities whenever I bathed, and I used to watch it trailing away, thick and dark, so very much like blood, into the drain, and pretend that it really was my blood. 

I was such an idiotic kid back then.... Ah, what everyone refers to as 'the good old days', before any of our misfortunes befell us. Before we moved to New York and really had to grow up. 

I stare at myself in the mirror. Gaunt face, short blonde hair, bright eyes, bare muscular arms and torso. Anyone who didn't know me wouldn't be able to tell that I have AIDS, but I know better. I wonder what happened to that naive, dare I say it- innocent?- little boy I used to be. But I know that too. He died, the same day April died, two years ago tomorrow. 

Sighing, I splash some more water on my face and go to leave the bathroom. But there's Mark outside, looking worried, and Collins not far off. They must have heard me coughing. Great. How am I going to get out of this? 

We all stare at each other, an odd uncomfortable silence. We've had these before, but usually over lesser things. Like when I first tried to start a band when we were seventeen. As my best friends, I expected Mark and Collins to join in. We soon discovered, however, that though they could both sing like a dream, neither of them had any actual musical talent. Collins was more interested in pondering the ways of the world; Mark didn't want to be in the limelight, he was more interested in the tech stuff. We used to have fights about that sort of stuff that doesn't matter anymore. 

Finally, Mark asks, "What's wrong?" He's become more adept at taking initiative since we moved to New York, and especially since April died. He's at least got more self-confidence out of all of this... like that accounts for anything. 

I shake my head. "Nothing. Really. Just a cough." Oh man, was that my voice? Sounds like it's been run through a cheese grater. Ugh. No one wants to listen to a singer who sounds like that. No wonder he looks so worried. Damn cough. 

"Are you sure?" he presses, holding his camera-shield and looking almost on the verge of frantic. 

"Yes. I'm fine." I want to at least sound placating, but I'm so tired... I really just want to go back to bed. 

"You should take something for it," Collins says, but I'm already shoving past them to my room and shutting the door. I can still hear them, talking worriedly outside my door as I go back to bed and pull the blankets tightly around myself. 

Really. I'm fine. I just want to go to bed and get some sleep. It's cold for summer, and my back hurts from lugging heavy equipment around all day, and I have an annoying cough. But really, I'm fine. I just have some bad memories that are keeping me from sleeping, and I can't stop thinking about everything that upsets me. But I'm fine, really. And when Mimi gets back tomorrow, warm and real and alive, here in my arms, where I can see that it's true, then everything will be perfect. 

-----------------------------------   
Commento.   
First off, I'm not really sure where the hell that came from. I was just minding my own business on Christmas Eve, and Roger suddenly started talking in my head. I let it sit in my mind for a few hours, to make sure it still sounded like a good idea, and then I wrote it up, and it still sounded like a good idea, and then I let it sit on my hardrive for a few days and it _still_ sounded like an okay idea, at least, so tonight, I decided to polish it up and see if anything would come of it ("...instead of my old shit...") (apologies, I couldn't resist). I haven't read many non-humor RENT fics, and most of those were narrated by Mark, but I get the feeling this is kinda cliché... *shrug*   
Second, I'm kinda worried about how it turned out. I really didn't mean for it to be so... depressing. It was just supposed to be Roger thinking about... stuff... and then it went off on this long tangent, as any train-of-thought fic will tend to do. It is not my intention that Roger will die in the night or any of that ironic crap. It's just stuff he's thinking about, and there will be a tomorrow, which will be happier for everyone concerned, even if it isn't actually perfect (this is RENT, what would "perfect" be doing there?).   
Third, I'm not really sure what's up with all the 'God' references... I'm not particularly relgious, and I don't really get the feeling that Roger is either... it just fits I guess...   
As to the title: Titling things has never been one of my strong points, so I just kinda sat around for an hour wondering what to do about that little problem. I finally decided on a line from one of the few poems I wrote last year that I still like. The poem and this fic have a few things in common, now that I think about it, but that is neither here nor there. Maybe I'll post it sometime. If not, and you want to read it, it's on my site, title is: "Pain, Deep and True".   
So anyway, that's my few cents on this little fic. Like it or not, please review, but please (not to be rude, everyone's entitled to their opinions) I don't want to see any M/R shipping unless the 'M' is Mimi. I'm not against Mark/Roger, it's just not part of _this_ fic. Apologies if you are offended by the sentiment, it's just that for some reason I'm feeling a special attachment to this fic and I don't want to see it attacked over a difference of a opinion... I respect your opinion, please respect mine, and all of that. Of course, I can't keep you from reviewing, but I can at least ask nicely...   
Woah, I really didn't mean for this note to get so long... I hate it when Author's Notes go off on a tangent about anything and everything and account for a good size of the fic, and here I am doing just that! *sigh* I should stop posting things late at night, ne?   
-Sparrow (12-28-2001)   
Oh, and I really don't recommend melting packing peanuts unless you're really bored... it gets old quick. (I had other reasons) 


End file.
